


A Worthy Confidant

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [115]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Master/Servant, Scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 04:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15722202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: When the bell rang for a third time, Loki had no choice but to answer it.





	A Worthy Confidant

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Servant AU. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

When the bell rang for a third time, Loki had no choice but to answer it. 

Sometimes, if one dawdled sufficiently, his Lordship would grow bored or fretful or forgetful and simply stop ringing. Sometimes, Loki liked to think, the pause between impulse and response forced his master to realize how petty his demand was, how much easier it would be for his Lordship to tend to the matter himself; even a man with a title was capable of fetching his own slippers now and then.

In some ways, Loki knew, he was fortunate. He may have been stuck in the far back of beyond, in a great house many miles from true civilization, but his lord never beat him, he was always paid on time and rather generously, and he was allowed to speak to never-ending parade of cultured and fabulous guests. There was nothing his Lordship enjoyed more than a good party. Rare was the weekend when the house was not full to bursting, its halls running over with the well-connected, the beautiful, and the chic. If Loki could not live in the city, then, he was as least thankful that the city came so often to them.

Yes, though part of him still chafed at service, at being always at someone else’s beck and call, Loki, bastard son of Countess Laufey--gods rest her ill-tempered soul--was, all things considered, in a fortunate place. 

Not that he had ever said such a thing to his Lordship’s face.

“Loki,” his Lordship barked as Loki opened the library door, “what on earth took you so long? I’ve been ringing for ages.”

“Forgive me, my Lord. I was tending to matters that could not easily be set aside.”

“Really?” His Lordship turned from the fire, his handsome face pink from its heat. “Like what?”

Loki bowed his head. “I was helping Cook polish silver, sir.”

“I would think that is the very definition of a task that is simple to abandon.”

“I was, sir, dealing with a particularly troublesome butter knife. Its dullness gave me great pains.”

His Lordship snorted, a smile twitching at the edge of his lips. “Your dedication to your duties never ceases to amaze me.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Mmmm.” His Lordship stuck out a hand and beckoned Loki closer, into the warm circle of light that spilled from the hearth. “There is a matter afoot, Loki, about which I would value your counsel.”

Loki stepped forward and gave his Lordship a skeptical glance. “My counsel, sir?”

“Your counsel and, subsequently, your actions.” His Lordship was leaning over a small table, one that served on most days to hold the tea tray. Tonight, though, the table was awash in paper--letters, it looked like--the pages filled by a tight, confident script that Loki did not recognize. There were a few photographs, too, small and crudely cut; one of these his Lordship picked up and held out for Loki to peruse.

“This is Lord Rogers,” Loki’s master said.

“Yes,” Loki said, plucking the image from his lord’s hand. “Oldest son of the Earl of Hemsfield. He’s been in America, hasn’t he?”

His Lordship laughed. “He has indeed. I should have known you’d be well-informed.”

Loki tipped the photograph into the light and studied the man’s handsome features, the confident cut of his chin. “I cannot help that so many find me a worthy confidant, my lord.”

“Surely your silver tongue has nothing to do with that.” His master’s voice was teasing. “Surely not.”

Loki shook his head and handed the photograph back. “My lord, you wound me. My face alone is enough to testify to my trustworthiness.”

His Lordship’s eyes were on him now, bright echoes in the evening shadows. “Your face testifies to many things, indeed.”

Ah, Loki thought with no small spark of pleasure. So it’s to be one of those occasions, is it?

“Is Lord Rogers coming here?” he asked. A side step. A temporary denial of the first bell.

“Is he--? Oh. Yes. In a fortnight. As Freya’s special guest.”

“I wasn’t aware they were acquainted.”

His Lordship’s expression darkened. “Neither was I, until one of the chambermaids found these under Freya’s bed.” He gestured at the letters; a whole novel’s worth, it seemed. “She must have left them here the last time she was home. It seems she thinks she’s in love with him.”

“Perhaps she is, my lord.”

“I very much doubt it. She wants to go to bed with him. That’s not the same thing.”

Loki frowned. “She wants--? Am I to understand that she has offered and that he has not acquiesced?”

“Indeed not. It seems he values his virtue and has insisted upon being wooed.”

“He’s a virgin?” Loki said, rather more loudly than he intended. “The first son of the Earl of Hemsfield has never been had?”

“He has not.”

Loki’s head was beginning to ache. Oh, he understood now why his Lordship had called upon his help. “What is he waiting for?”

His master made an impatient gesture. “According to his letters: true love. And he is not certain that he loves Freya in the way that the Bible intends. As man loves a woman, or some such nonsense.”

“Does he, perhaps, prefer the company of men?”

“Ah,” his Lordship said, “a logical question. But since he’s never lain with either, there is no way to tell.” He smiled, a slow, sneaking smile that Loki was desperately fond of. “Which is why I require your help.”

“What is it your lordship requires?”

Two fingers beneath Loki’s chin, a touch made of lightning. “Many things. Many, many things.”

A second bell. A second dodge.

“In regards to Lord Rogers, I mean.”

“Ah,” Loki’s master said. “Him. Yes.” He nodded at the table, at the overflowing stacks of paper. “Take these and read them. Gain a better understanding of the man’s mind, of any weaknesses his words may reveal.”

“Yes, my lord.”

His Lordship took a step closer and opened his hand, his palm cupping the curve of Loki’s jaw. “And then, when he comes here, I want you to seduce him. Worm his way through his virtues and do what you must to see if he has resisted my sister because it’s men that he craves.”

“There are those,” Loki said, “who enjoy the company of both, sir. This trick may serve only to prove that I am, may I say, irresistible to this man in ways that Freya is not.”

“Mmmm. True. But we will be in a far better position to bargain for a marriage if we have deprived him of his trump card, as it were. If his virtue is no longer a prize--and at the hands of a servant, no less--then I suspect he will be much more agreeable to Freya’s terms.”

Loki caught the collar of his Lordship’s coat, stroked the velvet there, the silk. “She would marry him if he doesn’t want her?”

His master raised an eyebrow. “Of course she would. She desires his holdings as much as his body."

“And what if I fail, sir? What if Lord Rogers proves impervious to my charms?”

His Lordship laughed, his breath hot across Loki’s face. “A near impossibility. Rogers is only human. And you, lovely creature, are a force to be reckoned with. I would never place a wager against you. Especially where your kisses are involved.”

Loki’s mouth lifted. The third bell, then. Time at last to answer.

“Is that so? Would you like to kiss me, my lord?”

A shudder, a streak of heat across his master’s face. “When I’m holding you like this, when your hands are upon me, you know I prefer you call me by my Christian name.”

“Very well.” Loki wound his arms around his Lordship’s neck and nuzzled his cheek, murmured: “Would you like to kiss me, Thor?”

“Always,” his Lordship whispered, the word an ardent prayer. “Always."   
  



End file.
